


Instruction For A Misplaced Slytherin

by bixgirl1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco, First Time, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Improper use of sex toys, Instructional Sex, M/M, PWP, Smut, Virgin Harry, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9592106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1
Summary: Potter stared at him with an intense, indecipherable expression.  He cleared his throat.  “You know what?  It would be easier to learn if you just showed me,” he said abruptly.In which Draco has a crush but fancies himself kind, Harry is oblivious but overly ambitious (and the teensiest bit sneaky), and things get dirty really fast.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All characters belong to JK Rowling and associated publishers. I make no profit from this work of fiction.
> 
> As always, thanks to Jenni for the beta.

Draco blinked hard as he woke in the face of the sun blurring his vision, surprised at how deeply he’d actually managed to sleep. It had been getting easier in the last two weeks, but he still reached for his wand under his pillow and palmed it reassuringly, glancing over at Potter’s bed, shrouded in its bed hangings.

Potter didn’t make a noise as Draco rolled out of bed and headed to their attached en suite, locking the door securely behind him as he pondered his newfound level of comfort. For the first month of term after being paired with Potter in the Eighth Year dorms, he didn’t think he got more than a cumulative hour every night. He still wondered what the bloody hell McGonagall had been thinking; in her speech about Interhouse Unity at the beginning of the year, she had outlined the new rooming requirements in which each person from their year would be sharing with someone from a different House. Still, there were a hell of a lot of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and even, hell, Gryffindors that she could have matched him with. 

It hadn’t been all bad. He wasn’t really worried that Potter would hex him outright, not after having testified for him at the trials and returning his wand. But Draco hadn’t been confident, exactly, that they would be able to get through the year without antagonizing each other straight into the medical wing. He’d thought Potter would be noisy (he wasn’t), messy (a little, but he was willing to be neater), and would bring up the whole saving-of-his-life thing whenever the urge took him (he hadn’t mentioned it even once). Instead, he was polite, almost overly so, solicitously bringing up dinner to their room one night when Draco had been sick, inviting Draco on more than one occasion to games in the Common Room—not that he would ever be stupid enough to accept, of course—and choosing to hang out with his friends in their rooms, rather than hauling them in to his and Draco’s room to sprawl across his bed and talk late into the night while, Draco supposed, braiding each other’s hair or wielding the Sword of Gryffindor at him. (Draco remained a little blurry on what they did for fun because Potter never invited them in. Not that he wanted him to. Of course not. Disgusting.)

Draco turned the faucets on to hot and let the water warm while he took his morning piss and disrobed. He stepped under the spray with a sigh, thinking of the one absolute advantage that living with Potter carried: he got to see far more of him, physically, than he’d ever thought would be possible. 

Draco wondered how much money he could make if he told the Prophet—or, hell, just the third-year girls—that Potter often went to bed in nothing but his pants. Black pants. Black pants that moulded tightly to a surprisingly round and muscled arse, and outlined the soft bulge in the front rather tantalizingly. 

Of course, he would never tell. It was bad enough that Potter had caught him looking before Draco had managed to slide his patented sneer in place. But it was a nice idea. He’d probably get even more for a picture.

Still, watching Potter walk around nearly starkers every night had certainly eased the way for Draco to begin sleeping through the night again. It was difficult to picture him brandishing his wand in Draco’s direction in nothing but his pants.

Well. No. That part wasn’t difficult. It was difficult imagining him doing it _maliciously._

That thought in mind, Draco soaped up and used his foamy shampoo for a quick, efficient wank before rinsing and turning off the shower. He headed over to the mirror and cast a series of drying charms on his hair until it fell, as smooth and fine as silk, over his scalp, and headed back out with a towel wrapped around his waist.

It wasn’t like he was actively trying to get Potter to look at him; he just maybe wanted acknowledgement that his body was at least as good as Potter’s now—much, much better than it had been last year. With his appetite returned, all of the flying he’d done over the summer, and the extra inch in height he’d gained, he was a far cry from the gaunt, terrified creature he’d been eight months prior. Now, his hipbones were covered in a fine layer of muscle, his face had filled out, his shoulders were wider. Almost as wide as Potter’s. (It wasn’t a competition, although it should be noted that Potter was still an inch shorter than he was.)

He dressed slowly, shooting irritated looks at Potter’s closed bed hangings; the curtains were snapped tightly shut to keep out the sun, and Draco let himself wonder for a moment (with nothing like concern, of course; it was normal curiosity) if Potter had had another nightmare the previous night. That had happened twice before and Draco hadn’t really known what to do other than send a charm over to ding in Potter’s ear until he’d woken up. The second time, he’d even gotten a “Thanks, Malfoy,” as a shaky reply.

When he was fully clothed, he threw another glance at Potter’s bed and sighed, then headed out. It was a Sunday, which meant the Eighth Years had the Quidditch Pitch to play on until eleven, before the teams began practicing, and he’d promised Blaise he’d join them—they needed a Seeker. (His willingness had nothing to do with the fact that Potter would most likely be playing opposite him when he woke up.)

As he headed down toward the Common room, he was halted by Longbottom. (Longbottom. Now _there_ was a transformation. Draco might even be willing to use said transformation in the shower as a prompter if the reality of who he was thinking of didn’t make him want to vomit in his mouth.)

“Hey, Malfoy,” Longbottom said, a wide, easy smile on his face as he stayed Draco with his hand on his arm.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Harry awake yet?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Longbottom chewed on his lip thoughtfully for a moment. “Would you mind letting him know Hermione, Hannah and I are headed to Hogsmeade? In case he decides not to play Quidditch after breakfast. Or can I go in--?”

“No.” Draco tried not to look appalled at the idea of Longbottom going in his room. It was embarrassing enough just being seen talking to him. He held up his hand. “I’ll let him know.”

“Okay. Remind him of breakfast, too. He’s missed twice this week.” Longbottom grinned at him like a puppy. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes disdainfully and walked back to his room. It really wasn’t for Longbottom that he was going back. And it certainly wasn’t for another peek of Potter in his boxers. Draco had simply matured as a person in the last several months, and as it was true that Potter had missed breakfast twice this week, it was kind of him to wake the git up to make sure he was able to eat. Draco was so bloody kind, people would start comparing him Saint Potter, soon.

He got to their room and closed the door behind him. (Wouldn’t want anyone else seeing Potter climb out of bed in nothing but his pants.) 

“Potter, wake up,” he called. He waited for a moment. “Potter, get your lazy arse out of bed, you prat. Breakfast.”

There was no sound, and definitely no sleekly muscled arms opening the bed hangings. Draco huffed and marched over to them, taking one of the curtains in each hand and yanked them open briskly. He poked his head in and stopped, annoyed words dying in his throat.

Accepted into Potter’s _Muffliato_ charm once his head was inside, Draco could hear a harsh buzzing noise, warring with the sudden rushing in his ears as he stared down uncomprehendingly at the sight before him. Potter was stretched out, splayed in a horribly uncomfortable-looking position. His knees were crooked at an angle and his legs opened wide as he reclined on his pillows and let a monstrously-sized, obviously charmed sex toy batter at his tightly furled hole, trying to get inside. He had one hand wrapped around his semi-erect prick, and his glasses-less face was screwed up tightly in frustration or possibly even pain from the looks of it. Pain, Draco decided, as Potter made grunted a little and writhed to accommodate the dildo. Definitely pain.

Draco made a noise in the back of his throat, unable to cope with the sight. Dear lord, and he’d thought Voldemort was going to kill him.

Potter’s eyes fluttered open, shockingly green without his glasses to obscure them. They widened as they caught Draco’s gaze and both of them froze for a split second until Potter gave a sudden yelp, letting go of his cock and reaching down to bat at the thing buzzing between his arse cheeks. He knocked it into the opposite bed hangings where it bounced off and down, rolling back onto the mattress and giving two last, mournful little sounds before falling silent.

“Merlin and Godric!” Potter shouted.

“And Salazar, too,” Draco agreed faintly, through numb lips. He let the curtains fall shut and backed away to sit (perhaps ‘collapse’ might have been the appropriate term, as Draco could suddenly no longer feel his legs. All of the blood in his body had rushed elsewhere.) down on the edge of his own mattress.

He heard shuffling behind Potter’s curtains as he dropped the Silencing charm and began moving around. Draco tried to acclimatize quickly to his new font of knowledge, except that he was pretty sure his brain was bleeding out his ears. Okay, so Potter apparently liked it up the arse. And wanted it painful? That kink didn’t seem like what Draco knew about him, and the ten-inch, bright purple, vibrating dildo with the girth of a bottle of pumpkin juice even less so. But he’d never expected for Potter to speak for him at his trial, either. Sometimes people just surprised you.

He was still trying to wrap his mind around it when Potter opened his curtains and swung his legs to climb out. He was wearing his pants now, but every centimetre of skin that was showing was a deep pink, up to the roots of his wild black hair. He looked in the direction of Draco’s face but did not, Draco noticed, meet his eyes.

“What the fuck, Malfoy?”

“I—I…” Draco swallowed. Using every single technique he had learned last year, he managed to school his expression into one of polite indifference. “I apologize.”

Potter exhaled loudly and rubbed a hand over his face before leaning over and plucking up his glasses, shoving them onto the bridge of his nose. That almost made Draco’s predicament worse. 

“I do, too,” Potter said at last, surprising him. “I waited until I’d heard you leave, and I put up a Silencing charm, but I forgot to ward my curtains so they couldn’t be opened. Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“You didn’t,” Draco assured him, utterly freaked out. “I mean…”

“No, I know,” Potter said, cracking a smile at whatever he saw on Draco’s face. “It’s not like catching someone wanking the usual way, which would be bad enough.”

“Is that why your hair always looks like that?” Draco asked, jerking his chin in Potter’s direction.

Potter surprised him again by chuckling. He reached up and patted his hair, ruefully trying to flatten it. “That’s just my hair.” He paused. “Are you going to tell people about this? Not that…” He trailed off with a grimace.

Not that they’d believe you hung, unsaid, between them. Unsure why he was so stung, Draco sniffed. “About your predilection for pain and massive sex toys?” he replied derisively. “Of course not, Potter. Your business. I have better things to do with my time. Like wank without hurting myself, for one.”

Potter’s blush, beginning to fade, deepened again. “I don’t like pain, you know,” he offered sullenly, picking at his rumpled bed covers. “The thing just doesn’t work.”

“It looked like it was working fine,” Draco mumbled, glancing out the window so he could focus on something other than the mental image now haunting him. 

“No, I mean… Nevermind.”

Draco looked back over. Potter was still staring down, looking almost dejected. Jesus, now he was supposed to be the Savior’s sex therapist? Wasn’t it enough that he’d been mature enough to try to wake Potter for breakfast? God, he was such a good person now, it was getting ridiculous.

“What.” Draco asked, flatly.

Potter looked up. He bit his lip, conflicted, and Draco could see the debate raging in his mind before he took a deep breath and blurted, “It doesn’t fit.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, feeling his face heat up. He knew perfectly well what Potter meant.

“The toy. It doesn’t fit. You know, there.”

Draco put a hand to his forehead, feeling slightly dizzy. His voice was barely rough at all when he asked, “Well, how much lube did you use?”

“Lube?”

Draco jerked his eyes to Potter’s again; Potter had an intense, confused look on his face, much like whenever he tried to mix a potion without Granger sitting next to him. “Lube. Lubricant? To help facilitate the entry of—” Jesus, he couldn’t say it, not with Potter staring at him in such a revelatory way, as though fascinated by what he was saying. He was even _leaning forward,_ for Christ’s sake, and Draco could swear he was panting a little. Draco resorted to making a crude gesture with both hands, and watched with something like satisfaction as Potter gulped audibly.

“I thought that was just for, you know, wanking,” Potter whispered, eyes still on Draco’s hands as he thrust the forefinger of one into the fist of the other.

Draco cracked a humorless laugh. “It’s for a lot of things.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about this? Why aren’t you asking Granger and the Weasel?”

Potter shifted; his mouth twisted into an odd shape. He hesitated. “They don’t know yet,” he admitted in a low voice. “That I’m gay.”

“You’re _gay?_ ” Draco squeaked out. His cock, which had started to wilt in his embarrassment from the conversation, perked up again like a Crup begging for treats. He drew his hands into his lap to disguise his response.

Potter seemed bewildered. “Er, yeah. That’s why with the…” He waved a hand at the sex toy, now lying motionless. 

“Arse play doesn’t make you gay, Potter,” Draco said when he got his breath back. Everyone knew Potter had been fairly serious about that tiny, female, red-headed nightmare of a Weasel. Come to think of it, though, hadn’t he seen her awfully close to Thomas in the library the other day?

“And I suppose you’re an expert on the subject?” Potter shot back. 

Draco blinked. “Well, yes. _I’m_ gay. But a lot of people use toys like that without actually wanting a human cock up their arse.”

Suddenly Potter was looking anywhere but at Draco again. He made a little ‘mmmhmm’ sound in the back of his throat. “I’d heard something like that,” he admitted after a moment. “Wasn’t sure it was true, though.” He hesitated. “So, lube?”

Draco took a deep breath. The things he did to be nice. (It had nothing to do with how his prick was now straining against his trousers and weeping to be let out, both figuratively and literally.) “Yes. A lot of it.” He braced himself. “And you might want to use an extra finger to loosen yourself up next time.”

“Loosen myself up?”

Draco groaned. “Please, please don’t tell me that you tried to put that thing inside you with no lubrication and no prep first.” _Although my cock is perfectly happy hearing about it, if you want to expand on the subject._ “Please tell me you’re not actually as stupid as I’ve so long suspected, Potter. Seriously. Where did you even get that thing? How do you happen to know so little about sex?”

“I’ve been running for my life for the last seven years; it hasn’t been exactly been easy to get any sex education while you’re learning to kill dark wizards,” Potter said hotly, half standing, his eyes narrowing. Draco put up a placating hand and it seemed to mollify him; he subsided back onto his mattress. “Besides, my first… the first person I did anything with was a girl. We only kissed, some. Before I was sure about myself. And who am I going to talk to about this?”

Draco gave another sigh; it felt heavier, like exhaling a storm cloud. “You can ask me. I can explain it all to you,” he said against his better judgement, finally meeting Potter’s eyes. “Although I really am curious as to where you got that thing.”

Potter blinked, ridiculously long lashes fluttering quickly, then gave a faint, almost grateful smile. “They had an ad for it in the _Prophet._ You know, the back pages? I had to open up an anonymous owl box in Diagon Alley and it took ages to get there. I’ve been working up the courage to use it.”

Draco snorted. “How you didn’t get Sorted into Slytherin, I’ll never know. That thing was incredibly… ambitious of you.”

A mischievous look passed over Potter’s face fleetingly, making Draco twitch. “I almost did, actually. I talked the Sorting Hat out of it.”

Draco laughed outright, surprised. “A most Slytherin way of getting what you want,” he pointed out.

“Guess so,” Potter agreed, slanting a look at him.

Silence hung heavy between them for a few moments. Potter stared at him with an intense, indecipherable expression. He cleared his throat. “You know what? It would be easier to learn if you just showed me,” he said abruptly.

Draco faltered, all amusement wiped clean. “Show you?” he tried to ask. (Although what came out was closer to, _“Nggph?”_ )

Potter seemed to understand anyway; he stood. He walked over to Draco’s bed in three long strides and stopped, millimetres away, the tops of his thighs almost — not quite — brushing against Draco’s knees. Draco gazed at him in astonishment, letting his eyes wander from the stubborn, determined set of Potter’s lightly shadowed jaw down to the rangy muscle of his chest and abdomen, and then even further, to his black pants — which were doing _absolutely nothing_ to hide his rapidly growing erection.

“Well, yeah.” He cleared his throat again, and a hint of uncertainty came into his voice. “Unless— Unless you’re seeing someone. Or you’re just not into, like—”

“No, I can!” Draco blurted, embarrassingly fast. He tried to settle the tremble in his voice, and when he spoke again, sounded more in control of himself. “I definitely can.”

Potter cocked his head sideways, and Draco felt his sharp scrutiny. “Yeah?”

Feeling more composed (because fuck it, this had to be a dream or something), Draco reached out and dragged a single fingertip down the length of cotton stretched out across the outline of Potter’s prick. Potter sucked in a loud breath. “Yeah. I can do that,” Draco whispered.

Suddenly, Potter lifted his knee to knock Draco’s apart. He stepped closer, between Draco’s loosened thighs, crowding him, leaning down and propping his hands on either side of Draco’s hips so they were at eye level. “Are you sure?” Potter said softly, breath warm on Draco’s face. He licked his lips. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t ever do anything I don’t want to do anymore,” Draco said roughly, heart beating fast, and kissed him.

Potter’s lips were warm and wet over his, and Draco swallowed a moan as Potter’s mouth opened and he slipped his tongue inside. Draco’s hands came up to grip his biceps as Potter leisurely continued the kiss, nipping at Draco’s upper lip, licking against his tongue with slow, deliberate movements that made Draco quiver. He slanted his head further to the right and opened his mouth more; the kiss became heated and messy, and Draco wondered hysterically why Potter needed anyone to show him _anything_ , with as skilled a tongue as he already had.

He felt Potter’s fingers shakily unknot his tie and then stray to the front of his shirt. Draco passively let him begin undoing his buttons, one by one, not losing contact with the delicious heat of Potter’s mouth, until his shirt was hanging open and Potter was shoving it off his shoulders.

Draco pulled away, breathing heavily, as he undid his cuffs, and Potter took the opportunity to begin mouthing at the side of his throat and oh, _oh Merlin fuck,_ bite down on the muscle at where his shoulder met his throat, sucking hard. Draco made a strangled sound as the button of his left cuff popped off the thread in his effort to remove it. Potter raised his head and kissed his mouth again, drawing Draco’s arms through their sleeves until his shirt was off. He tossed it to the floor and began working on Draco’s belt.

Draco had heard of strip teases, of course; he’d just never imagined that someone could perform one on another person. But the pace with which Potter unbuckled his belt and snaked it from its trouser loops was agonizingly slow. Draco panted restlessly into Potter’s mouth, which was absolutely sinful in its intent, his tongue unhurried and purposeful, almost destroying every illusion that Draco had of being in control. Draco toed off his shoes while Potter started undoing his flies. 

“Lift up,” Potter commanded softly, dipping his fingers into the sides of Draco’s trousers. Draco balanced himself on his hands and lifted his hips as Potter eased his trousers down, down, lowering himself to the floor so he could tug them lower until they pooled around Draco’s calves. He pulled Draco’s socks off, one by one, before slipping Draco’s legs free of his trousers; he cast them aside and then stopped, on his knees between Draco’s thighs, looking up at him fixedly. “What do I do now?”

Draco roused himself from the blurry dizziness that had overtaken his senses. “What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me what I’m supposed to do now,” Potter prompted lowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. His hands, calloused and hot, came up to rest on the tops of Draco’s thighs, rasping against the hair on them, squeezing lightly. “You know.”

“Right. Right. Uh, right.” Draco sucked in a couple of deep breaths; his confusion was obviously nothing more than oxygen deprivation from too much excellent kissing. “Well, what do you want me to teach you?”

“I think I’d like to know what it’s like to…” He leaned forward and rubbed his nose against the bulge of Draco’s groin. “I think I like to know how to do _that_ well.”

Draco hissed at the persistent nuzzle of Potter’s nose against his cock. “Are you sure— _ah!_ —that you don’t want me to show you how first?” he gritted out, trying not to move.

“No, I like to learn on my feet,” Potter mumbled, mouthing the outline of his cock through the fabric.

“On your knees, you mean,” Draco said, lust obscuring the snide tone he’d intended. (Plus, he didn’t really want Potter to actually pull away at this point. He was kind; he wasn’t _stupid._ )

“That too,” Potter murmured. He scraped his teeth gently over Draco’s cock, the fabric rapidly becoming moist and hot under his ministrations, and Draco squirmed as Potter clamped his mouth sideways along the length of his shaft and gave a huffing suck. 

“Okay—oh, fuck—okay, instructions,” Draco said raggedly. “You might want to remove my pants.”

Green eyes glinted up at Draco from his lap. “Really? This is fun.” Another small nip.

“Yes,” Draco agreed weakly. “But yes. Take them off, Potter.”

“You’re the teacher,” Potter said, smiling a little. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Draco’s pants and slid them down, inch by inch, his face still so close that Draco could feel gentle puffs of air through Potter’s nostrils as he exhaled. Draco lifted his hips again and Potter pulled his shorts all the way down, clearing his bum, clearing his cock, exposing him all-too-suddenly to the cool air of the room. Draco lowered his weight heavily as Potter slid his boxers down his legs and tossed them over his shoulder.

Draco stared down; the image that greeted him obliterated every single goddamn thing he ever thought he knew: Potter was still on his knees, all messy black hair as dark as Nox and hazy green eyes filled with something that looked like anticipation, looking at Draco’s cock as though it were a fucking treacle tart. Draco’s erection bobbed in front of Potter’s face—he was so hard it was actually painful—and Potter reached out to take it in hand, giving it an absent, curious stroke from root to tip.

Draco came.

Misery and satisfaction flooded him in equal measure as his orgasm shot shocks of pleasure down his spine, his cock throbbing and spilling long, sticky streams over Potter’s fingers, every single one of his muscles contracting with his climax. Potter looked surprised for a moment and then gamely gave him another stroke, a little tighter, and Draco sobbed — he fucking _sobbed_ — with how good it felt, and how horrified he was at not having at least gotten into Potter’s mouth for a _single, goddamned second._

When it was over, he rested back limply against his hands and stared at his bed hangings, searching for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete tosser. He settled on, “That was very well done. As you saw. Good instincts, Potter. Full marks.”

Potter laughed a little. “Good instruction,” he teased (Draco was pretty sure). There was a pause as he spelled away the mess all over his hand. “I liked that a lot.”

“Never done that to someone else?”

“Or had someone do it to me,” Potter admitted. 

“Want me to show you?”

Potter swallowed. He levered himself neatly off the ground and climbed up beside Draco onto the bed. “Yes.”

Draco smirked. He pressed on Potter’s shoulders until Potter was laying back against his pillows, limbs tense and waiting. Draco skimmed his hand over the flat of Potter’s stomach; his muscles twitched and jumped, warm and alive, as Draco’s hand traveled further down to palm roughly at the tenting of Potter’s pants. Potter’s legs shifted; his body arched into the sensation. “Oh, _god._ ”

“Feel good, Potter?” This, he could do. Potter was delectable like this, but Draco was—for the moment—in control, and he was (pretty sure) he could handle it. 

“Y-yeah,” Potter stuttered out as Draco tightened his hand. “More.”

Draco hummed a bit, squeezing his hand, applying more pressure. “These should come off, as well,” he murmured. “For future reference.”

Potter hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and tugged them down to his thighs suddenly, his cock popping free. Draco took a moment to study it; he’d been so distracted by the sex toy, he’d barely gotten a glimpse of it before. Looking at it now, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed—he’d always sort of assumed that Potter was compensating for something with his behavior, and yet his cock was perfectly impressive, possibly larger than Draco’s own. The foreskin stretched out over the crown, which glistened at the slit, and it was a fierce red in color; it pointed upward for a moment before the heaviness caused it to bob backwards, bouncing against Potter’s stomach. Draco licked his lips.

“What would you like me to show you, Potter?” he asked, fingers trailing lightly over the outline of his prick before burying in the wild, curling black hair surrounding the base of it and giving a sharp tug.

“Anything,” Potter gasped. “Do anything. Touch me. Oh, fuck. I want to know—” He broke off with a choking noise as Draco circled the length of his shaft with one hand and fisted it, closing tightly and stroking upward with a sharp motion. “ _Yes_.”

“You see,” Draco informed him softly, beginning to move his hand up and down in a slow, constricted drag, “Prep is important. It’s important to be turned on before you try anything like you did before. You didn’t look that turned on with the toy, Potter.”

“I—wanted to know. Just didn’t fit. Hurt,” Potter wheezed out, pumping his hips upward.

“You want to feel something in your arse?” Draco admired the look of his hand, pale, long-fingered, circling the darker flesh of Potter’s erection. He took his free hand and dipped it between Potter’s thighs, cradling his balls and rolling them in his palm, none-too-gently. “But you’re not interested in pain, right?”

“I ah—I don’t know,” Potter gasped, sweat breaking out on his forehead and throat. “Feels good. Tighter.”

“Maybe a little pain, then, mmm?” Draco dared, barely able to believe his own nerve. He squeezed the hand surrounding Potter’s cock tighter, until the head turned almost purple. Potter made a desperate, garbling sound and nodded frantically, shutting his eyes. His head rolled listlessly against the pillow. Draco’s spent cock twitched in warning and began to swell again. 

“What about this? Want to feel your cock in something?” He leaned down and licked the leaking slit, tonguing around the stretched foreskin. 

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Potter growled. “Please—take it.”

Draco ran his tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of Potter’s cock. “I rather like you like this, Potter,” he murmured against his skin; Potter shivered. “So hard and trembling. Waiting for me to tell you what to do.” A thought occurred to him. “Were you waiting for me to come back? Did you set that scene up for me?”

Potter’s head came up; his eyes were confused, unfocused. “What? No! I just thought if I was going to try to have sex with y— another bloke someday, I should be ready for it.”

Draco caught the slip, shock making his hand still for a moment. Interesting. He decided to revisit it, later. “Again, good instincts. Be prepared, right? Do you feel prepared, Potter?” Draco licked a long stripe up the length of Potter’s cock, from root to tip.

Potter’s hips bucked up. “ _Please,_ ” he begged in a voice that did not sound like his own. Draco decided he liked it, liked Potter begging—the only boy who’d ever seen him cry, the one boy to whom he owed so much, finally asking _him_ for something—so Draco rewarded him by swallowing his length in one swift, clean suck. 

Potter arched, cock hitting the back of Draco’s soft palate, and Draco worked to relax his throat to take him in deeper. His lips were stretched wide around Potter’s erection, warm and heavy, in his mouth. Desperate hands scrabbled at his hair, sliding between the smooth strands and clutching hard as Draco sucked him down, hollowing out his cheeks; Draco let his tongue glide over the head in smooth, sweeping motions whenever he pulled back, before diving deeper and letting Potter fuck upward into his throat.

“Oh, god— can I— feels too— want to—” Potter babbled. Draco put a hand on the flat of his stomach to hold him in place, pressing firmly against Potter’s tightened muscles, and reached down with the other hand, wriggling a finger between his clenched cheeks to search for Potter’s entrance.

He’d barely found it—small, tight, deliciously virginal—when Potter gave a stifled cry and flexed up _hard,_ spilling into Draco’s mouth, holding himself frozen as he shivered and came. Draco recovered from his surprise quickly, swallowing most of it, hot and bittersweet, and letting the rest of it drip out of the sides of his mouth as Potter finished. He relaxed back against the mattress with a muffled sound and Draco gentled the movements of his tongue, lapping up whatever liquid he could reach, until Potter gave a soft tug with the hand that was still fisted in his hair. 

Draco pulled off Potter’s cock with a soft popping sound, pleased. Potter looked debauched and sort of lovely — blotchy and messy in a way that no one else had ever seen him, and Draco preened to himself at having been able to cause that.

He wiped his chin on his bed covers — he’d clean it up, later — and slithered up the length of Potter’s lax body. Potter didn’t so much as twitch, still breathing heavily, eyes shut. 

After debating a moment, Draco pressed a kiss against Potter’s mouth, which Potter immediately responded to. Despite his submissive position, laid out like a sacrifice underneath Draco, he somehow managed to dominate the kiss, lips searching and hard, tongue questing and eager. He didn’t even pull away from the taste of his own come still lingering inside the heat of Draco’s mouth, kissing him deeper, lifting his head to follow Draco as he tried to pull away; he reached up and took hold of Draco’s face between his hands, jerking him closer. Then he half-rolled them so they were side by side, trapping Draco into the kiss.

He heard himself moan into it, a sound Potter swallowed before echoing it. Potter kissed like he flew and slayed Dark wizards; with determination and focus, with startling finesse and elegance. 

Draco had the brief thought that he was supposed to be the authority, but it was quickly banished under Potter’s mouth, slick and experienced, and his searching hands, which released Draco’s face to slide down the sides of his neck, tickling him. Draco trembled as Potter’s hands ventured lower, tracing his collarbone and then slid to find his nipples, tweaking and rolling them each between his fingertips, and he could feel Potter’s cock begin to lengthen and harden again against his thigh. Potter followed his adept fingers by breaking their kiss and applying his mouth to Draco’s chest, licking firmly and taking one tight nipple into his mouth with a strong suck.

Draco moaned roughly and wriggled away, shoving against Potter’s shoulder. Potter gave him an irritated look, but pulled back. “What? Learn on my feet, remember?”

“I thought _you_ were the one in need of instruction,” Draco pointed out, his sneer completely losing its intended effect with the breathlessness of his voice. “Roll the fuck over, Potter.”

Potter paused; he looked strangely guilty. “We can… You know… that way,” he faltered. Draco struggled up onto his elbows to consider him. Potter’s face was turning red again. “I want to… let you. But—” He cleared his throat. “Maybe you could instruct me with you? Like, the finger thing?” he added inelegantly.

Draco stared, his mind moving at dull speeds as he processed this, even as his hole clenched in a sudden, wicked expectation. “Are you trying to tell me,” he bit out, “that you tried to shove that thing up your arse when you’re not even a bottom?”

“What’s a bottom?”

Draco’s elbows collapsed back and he covered his face with his hands. Everything he’d suspected for the last seven years was really true: Potter _was_ that stupid, and he _was_ going to be the death of Draco.

Fortunately for Potter, Draco’s cock didn’t seem to mind that he was going to die from this. Also fortunately for Potter, Draco was now a good person — he was _so_ fucking good, he might actually let Potter fuck him before he murdered Potter with his last breath. 

He reached for his wand. “ _Accio_ lube,” he muttered, and snatched the little jar that flew toward him with quick Seeker reflexes. Potter’s eyes widened as Draco slowly unscrewed the lid and held it out. “ _I_ am a bottom, you utter nitwit,” he said. “Coat your fingers in that.”

Potter took the pot and obediently dipped his fingers in the slick substance, his breath coming faster. “Seriously, though, what’s a bottom?”

“A bottom — for our purposes — is the one who likes to get fucked, more often than not,” Draco explained, strained, as he watched Potter lift up slippery, shiny fingers. “A top is the one who likes to do the fucking.”

“I can’t be both?” One of Potter’s hands wandered down, covering the length of Draco’s erection and resting there, not moving. Draco bumped his hips up, just a bit. He’d already come twice that morning but his cock clearly didn’t remember it, already leaking heavily under the flat of Potter’s hand. 

“You can do both, you can like both, but there’s almost always a preference,” Draco muttered, voice shaking. He returned to the matter at hand, letting his legs fall open a little. “One finger, to start. Rub my arse a little first. Go slow.”

Potter’s breath caught; his eyes flared with some undetermined emotion as Draco stared up at him challengingly, and then his mouth quirked up to the side. He shifted, sitting back against his heels, keeping one hand on Draco’s cock, just holding it in place against Draco’s belly and his palm, and slid the other one between Draco’s arse cheeks. His finger brushed over Draco’s hole, lightly at first and then more confidently when Draco cleared his throat, trying to keep his thoughts in order—after all, this was so that Potter could learn. 

Potter traced Draco’s rim, circling it gently with a slick, blunt fingertip. He massaged the muscle carefully, watching his own work, flicking his eyes up to Draco’s face every few seconds as if to assess. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, proud of how steady he sounded (which was not very — _Harry fucking Potter’s_ finger was pressed against his rim — but enough). “Now push inside. Slow. _Slow_ ,” he ordered again on a gasp as Harry pressed his finger in past his tight ring of muscles to slide in down to the first knuckle. He stopped. 

“God, you’re tight,” he said, sounding awestruck. 

“Thinking about what your cock would feel like in there?” Draco asked snidely, ignoring his own cock throbbing with pleasure at the idea.

“Well, yeah,” Potter admitted guilelessly. He stared down at where they were joined.

“Turn your hand; palm up,” Draco said finally, trying to ignore what was possibly the single most distracting statement he’d ever heard in his entire life. “Then you can go further.” 

He felt the twist of Potter’s finger as he repositioned, and his arse tightened greedily around it as it wiggled deeper inside. He brushed against the bundle of nerves deep inside Draco and Draco arched, letting out a sharp “ _Ah!_ ” as a piercing tingle of pleasure shot down to his cock. Harry stilled again.

“Prostate,” Draco explained unsteadily. “Good spot. Good, _good_ spot. Find that again if you can, and add another finger. Spread them out a bit after a minute.”

Looking equal parts interested and aroused, Potter did, slowly pushing another finger in alongside the first. Draco felt the burn, the stretch, but with it the sweet heat of desire as Potter found his prostate again and rubbed at it carefully. His fingers made soft, wet, sucking noises as they pulled out of Draco and then thrust back in; apparently, the obscene sounds Draco was making were enough instruction to let Potter know to pick up the tempo, rub harder, move more urgently. He grazed against Draco’s prostate on every inward thrust as he mercilessly began to fuck Draco with his fingers.

Draco screwed his eyes shut, suddenly afraid he was going to cry from how bloody fantastic it was—trust Potter to be as talented at this, once he got the hang of it, as he was at everything else. He lifted his arse in time with Potter screwing his fingers deeper, feeling them scissor intermittently, cock throbbing tensely under Potter’s gentle hand, balls drawing up tight against his body.

“Wait, wait!” he heard himself cry out distantly. Potter’s hand stilled again; when Draco opened his eyes, Potter looked foggy, like his mind was slowly coming back to him. Sweat beaded his upper lip and forehead; his scar peeked out at Draco from under Potter’s fringe, and Draco pulled on all of his resources to not come again, just from looking at it.

“What?” Potter mumbled, voice thick. “You’re close. Aren’t you?” He screwed his fingers back inside Draco for good measure.

Draco gritted his teeth. “Don’t you want to try the rest?”

Potter blinked, eyes clearing a bit. “You’ll really let me?”

“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco panted. He placed a hand over the one Potter had on his prick and pressed down, once, before pulling Potter’s hand away. He looped his left thigh over Potter’s arm, controlling an embarrassing squeal that wanted to escape his throat as he rolled onto his stomach, Potter’s fingers still inside of him. “Fuck me.”

Potter groaned loudly behind him and removed his fingers too quickly, leaving Draco empty and wanting. Draco felt the mattress shift and then Potter was grabbing his hips, fingers bruising as he hauled Draco onto his knees. Draco pushed up onto his elbows and waited, arse high in the air, as Potter seized his cheeks and pulled them open; cold air wafted over his wet hole, making Draco shudder. “Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Potter mumbled, reverently. Draco let his head fall forward, his forehead resting against the mattress as he made little wheezing noises on every exhale. There was a pause and then Potter was lining up against him, cock slick — thank Merlin, Draco had forgotten to remind him — and then he was slowly breaching Draco’s body with little, rutting thrusts.

Draco struggled to relax; it hurt, quite a bit. He clutched at the sheets, bearing down, pushing against Potter as Potter pushed forward inexorably, working his way inside. He made a broken sound above Draco and gave a last, gentle shove, and then he was seated in fully; Draco could feel the curls of hair at his groin press against his buttocks.

“ _Malfoy,_ ” he whimpered, sounding undone. 

Well, good. Draco shouldn’t be the only one.

Draco waited as his body adjusted to deep ache of the intrusion; Potter seemed to understand this, his hands clenching and unclenching reflexively on Draco’s hips as he refused to move. Finally, Draco butted his hips backwards and received another wrenching gasp from Potter’s mouth in return. “Can I— Can I move now?” he asked.

Draco nodded with effort. “God, Potter, your cock…”

“God, Draco, your arse,” Potter parroted hoarsely, giving a short pump deeper. Draco decided wildly that it was okay that Potter had used his first name without asking; he was, after all, buried balls-deep inside him. Besides, it sounded good. 

Potter made another quick thrust, rough and deep, pulling back and pressing forward. Draco could feel his inner muscles dragging around Potter’s cock on every pull, as if begging him to stay. His nerves were raw, jangling with every little shove inward, arse tight around Potter’s prick. Draco’s mouth flooded with saliva as Potter set up a quick, brutal pace, shoving in and in and in. Draco could hear the slapping of flesh on flesh, and he whined, low in his throat as he felt his balls draw up tight again against his body.

Abruptly, Potter slowed. He drew back gently and then slid back in, loosening his grip on Draco’s hips and feathering light touches over his buttocks and the small of his back. Draco moaned loudly into the sheets, his skin lit up with sensation, just barely beyond a tickle, wherever Potter touched him. Then Potter reached down, grasping at the meat of Draco’s shoulder to pull him upward. The angle of his penetration changed, the head of his cock pressed firmly against Draco’s prostate. “F-f-fuck, Potter,” Draco got out through his teeth.

Potter chuckled, low, in Draco’s ear. His chest pressed tightly against Draco’s back, and he gave Draco’s ear a little nip, entirely too confident for what a complete _virgin_ he’d been an hour ago. “Like that, do you?” He gave his hips a little roll.

“ _Uhhhh._ ” Draco grunted in agreement as Potter’s teeth replaced his fingers on Draco’s shoulder; he bit down, hard, then laved at his teeth marks with his tongue. Draco reached down and wrapped a frantic hand around his cock; it wouldn’t do for the Saviour’s ego to get any larger by making Draco come without even touching his erection. He swept his fingers over the leaking moisture at the tip then spread it around the head, using his precome as a lubricant, and started to stroke.

Potter gave another slow, rolling thrust, and gripped Draco’s forearm, removing his hand from himself. He slid his fingers in place of Draco’s, curling them tightly around Draco’s shaft, swiveling his hips again in a bid to, Draco assumed, drive him completely mad. “Do it,” Draco demanded desperately. “Merlin, Potter.”

Potter’s voice was knowing and quiet. His free hand carded through Draco’s hair, gripping it to tilt his head back further. “You. Feel. So. Fucking. Good. Around. My. Dick,” he grunted in time with each forward press of his hips. “This cannot be happening. I’ve wanted to fuck you for _weeks._ ”

Draco mewled. Potter’s hand had gotten tighter around him, fondling his shaft in long, torturous strokes. “Then do it,” Draco choked out. “Make me come. _Make me come._ ”

Potter groaned again and pushed his hips forward, picking up his gratifying pace from before. He shoved Draco back down onto his hands and slammed in deep, hips stuttering with no finesse, body draped over Draco’s back as he harshly worked his hand over the skin of Draco’s cock. Draco felt it rush at him, but this time Potter didn’t slow as Draco cried out “ _Harry!_ ” in an agonized voice as he started coming, pleasure consuming him like sparks of magic, cock pulsing in Potter’s hand, shooting thick ropes of spunk over his fingers. His arse constricted again and again around Potter’s prick, and then Potter was coming too—Draco could feel the hot splash of it, deep inside — Potter’s cock throbbing and twitching hard with his release.

Potter slowly released him, allowing Draco to melt forward into the mattress; Potter’s body followed, draped gracefully over him for a few delightful moments before he gently removed his slowly softening cock from Draco arse and fell heavily sideways, sliding off of Draco’s back.

Utterly devastated, Draco rolled his head to the side and opened one eye. Potter was looking at him, wholly satisfied, a smug little smile curving his mouth. 

“You _did,_ ” Draco accused, still muffled by the mattress. “You _did_ set that up.”

“No, Malfoy, I swear,” Potter objected, but he didn’t stop smiling. “It was just… fortunate.”

“Fortunate that I happened to come across you attempting to give yourself internal injuries?” Draco scoffed. He reached up and grabbed a pillow, stuffing it under his elbow to prop himself up; his bones felt like melted wax.

“Well, sort of.” At least Potter had the grace to look a little sheepish. “I may have assumed, when I heard you were gay, that you were the one who wanted to do the—that you were the topper.”

“The top, Potter.” Draco paused. “So, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d been thinking about this?”

Potter’s eyes flared again. He sucked in a sharp inhale, and moved to trail a single finger along Draco’s spine, from the base of his neck down to his tailbone. Draco shivered. “No. I’ve been thinking about this. But, first I didn’t know you were gay, and then I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I can’t exactly do any private research on my own, can I?”

“You can now,” Draco said, trying to sound cranky about it, but it wouldn’t come. God, it really _was_ shocking Potter hadn’t been placed in Slytherin; he was more manipulative than people gave him credit for. Despite what Potter said, Draco felt sure he had somehow planned all of this accordingly. Draco glared at him. “You’re lying about something, though. What?”

Potter gave a cringe that was not cute at all. (Except that it was, a little.) “Well, Ron and Hermione actually _do_ know I’m gay.” Draco raised an eyebrow and Potter gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Saw an opportunity.”

How was that bloody Hat still being used to Sort when it was this fantastically inaccurate?

Draco wasn’t entirely offended, though; being manipulated was all part and parcel of being a kind and generous person, which of course, Draco was now. It happened. He could let go of it graciously. 

“Didn’t do well enough, then?” Potter asked, a sneaky grin on his face. “More practice is needed?”

“Well, of course,” Draco mumbled irritably. “You won’t know if you’re a true top until you’ve bottomed once or twice.”

“We could try that,” Potter said seriously. “If you want.”

Draco felt his cock jerk warningly. He closed his eyes. “You’re the one in need of lessons,” he snapped out as a reminder.

“I guess I am,” Potter murmured, sounding too amused for Draco’s mental health. “How’d you learn all that stuff, anyway? Have you— have you done it a lot?”

Like Draco was going to admit to three mildly satisfactory tumbles with Blaise in sixth year and a lot of self-exploration and research. Potter wasn’t the only one who could use sex toys. “Oh, loads,” he said airily. 

Potter’s eyes sharpened. “But now you’ll do it with me.”

“Now I’ll do it with you,” Draco agreed on a yawn.

“ _Only_ with me,” Potter clarified in a hard voice. 

Draco looked at him, confused. “Are we boyfriends now, Potter?” he asked rudely. “Because we fucked?”

Something in Potter’s face faltered. “Um.”

“Do you _loooove_ me?” Draco taunted, dragging out the word.

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Potter sighed hard, as irritated as Draco wanted him to be. “I like you. Okay? So, boyfriends. Maybe not yet. But something. We’re something. So no fucking anyone else while we figure it out.”

Taken aback, Draco stared at him. As brilliant as he knew himself to be, he had so _not_ been expecting that response in the slightest. Potter liked him? 

A series of events clicked into place slowly. Potter inviting him to the games in the common room. Potter picking up after himself with no argument when Draco complained. Potter bringing him supper under a warming stasis charm when Draco had a cold. 

Fuck, Potter _liked_ him.

Draco swallowed hard. He put his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. “Okay,” he agreed simply.

“Yeah?”

“I said okay, don’t make me regret it by harping on it like a Hufflepuff, Potter,” Draco mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Done,” Potter said, on the edge of a laugh. He leaned forward and ghosted his lips over the corner of Draco’s mouth, which curved up with something that felt like happiness. “By the way, why _did_ you come back this morning?”

Oh. “It’s all Longbottom’s fault, really,” Draco informed him.

He’d have to remember to thank Longbottom later.

Indirectly, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are absolutely lovely.


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